Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Silence stretched between us as I fought to level my head.
“Let’s go.” I turned around and walked out of the room, holding the door so she could walk through first.
Tension radiated between us as we walked down the steps and into the lobby.
“Isa!” Kacey Pierce, one of Senator Lauren’s junior aides, raced over from one of the glassed-in conference rooms, notebook in hand. “Is there anything else you need me on while you’re gone?”
Izzy adjusted her tote bag, looking over the list that Kacey shoved at her. “I think this just about covers it.”
I moved closer and leaned in, putting my lips dangerously close to her ear. “Ask her to pull the latest correspondence from any American journalists with accompanying pictures, and have them printed for when we get back.”
Izzy turned her head so quickly, her gaze whipping to mine, that I barely had a millisecond to draw back before the entire lobby would have been spectators to a crossed line. “You’re helping?”
“It’s just a suggestion.” Blatantly retreating, I waited by the door as Izzy gave her orders to the junior aide. Had to admit, leadership looked really damn good on her.
We made our way to the convoy, where my team already waited. She protested when I took her bag from her and tossed it on the floor of the armored vehicle, then drew out a Kevlar vest.
“Arms out.”
“This is ridiculous.” She put her arms out, and I slipped the vest over her head and the practical french braid she’d woven her blonde strands into this morning.
“So is you being here, but at least this will stop bullets.” I brought the straps from the back of the vest under her arms and secured them to the front with as much professionalism as I could muster.
“It’s heavy.”
“Being shot is worse.” I reached into the vehicle and brought out a Kevlar helmet.
She glared at me. “Seriously?”
“They’re not too bad!” Mayhew, the other junior aide, called out from inside.
“No preferential treatment.” I shrugged at Izzy. “Put it on, or you stay here.” She wasn’t getting shot in the head on my watch.
She shoved it onto her head, then climbed in next to Mayhew, and I took the front passenger seat just like yesterday, while the rest of the team filed in.
Within moments, we rolled through the embassy gates, heading toward the field just down the road where the helicopters were staged.
We passed through a barbed wire gate and onto the field, where six Blackhawks were all in various stages of run-up. Taking her into blatant danger went against every instinct I had, but I knew she’d just go without me if I refused her, which meant I got out of the car and opened her door. She’d managed the seat belt just fine by herself this time.
“Is this a . . . soccer field?” Izzy asked as she stepped out of the car.
“Yep,” I answered as Graham came around the car, Torres not far behind.
“Which one is ours?” Izzy asked.
“We’re taking the front two.”
“Two?” She shot a confused look my way.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “We travel in two in case something happens, like one getting shot down.”
Her eyes flared.
“Black, Rose, and four grunts are in the second aircraft,” Graham said, moving out of the way when Holt stumbled out of the car after Mayhew.
“It’s so damned hot,” Holt muttered, rolling his neck as Kellman rolled his eyes behind him.
“That works for me. We’ll take the first one,” I told Graham before turning to Kellman. “Good luck with that one today.” I cracked a smile as Holt wiped the sweat from the back of his neck.
“I should say the same thing to you.” He shot a poignant look at Izzy, who stood looking at the Blackhawks with wide eyes before cramming her sunglasses on her face. “Looks like you’ve got a knuckler.”
Fuckity, fuck, fuck. What was she thinking?
I walked over to her, dust coating my boots, and took her elbow, leaning down so she could hear me over the high-pitched whine of the engines. “I’m guessing you never got over your fear of flying?”
“I’m fine.” She yanked her elbow out of my grip. “I’ll be . . . fine.”
“They’re not big, cushy planes where you can put your headphones on and pretend you’re somewhere else,” I warned her as we headed for the first helicopter.
“I’ll manage,” she shouted, glaring over her shoulder at me as she stepped up into the bird I’d led us to, walking past the door gunner.
“This should be fun,” Torres said with a grin.
I rolled my eyes and climbed in.
The Blackhawk was set up to carry troops, and I took the seat directly against one of the pilot’s backs, facing Izzy. The pilot twisted in her seat, handing me a headset. I nodded my thanks, fitted it around my helmet, and turned it on, but I kept the mic muted.